


Withdrawal

by Teshayel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teshayel/pseuds/Teshayel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after making the decision to stop taking lyrium, Cullen continues to struggle with symptoms of withdrawal. What the Commander does not realize is the Inquisitor's strong feelings on the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withdrawal

            When Cassandra had supported his decision to stop taking lyrium, Cullen had foolishly believed that he could weather the consequences. It was not the debilitating physical effects that caused him to waver in his determination to overcome the addiction, however. Spending days on end cloistered in his office shivering uncontrollably, suffering through waves of nausea, and nursing a crippling headache was certainly… trying. Yet it paled in comparison to the hallucinations he faced during bouts of withdrawal. Cullen found himself in a waking nightmare populated by demons and abominations and no amount of self-discipline could help him master the horror they stirred within him. He had been told that the symptoms would grow milder over time, though his experience so far belied that notion. After six months neither pain nor visions had abated. He supposed that the prolonged use of lyrium had made a permanent change within his body, and he would never truly feel hale. If only there was a way of uncovering the trigger behind the withdrawal crises. The way things were headed, downing the contents of that little blue bottle seemed inevitable. He was yet again standing before the cabinet, reaching for the infernal remedy, when a voice startled him.

            “Commander?” The Inquisitor studied him, brows knitted together. “Forgive my intrusion. I _did_ knock,” she paused uncertainly. “I wished to discuss the Blades of Hessarion with you. They are seasoned warriors, and might prove useful–ˮ She trailed off in consternation. “You should have a seat.”

            “I am not as ill as that,” Cullen growled when Lady Trevelyan moved to take his weight onto her shoulders. He sank into the chair behind the desk, and closed his eyes against the image of a pride demon sinking its claws into the Inquisitor’s shoulders.

            “I’ll send a runner for a healer,” Lady Trevelyan made for the door.

            “Do not bother, Inquisitor,” Cullen breathed. “It is not an illness… What you see are the effects of lyrium withdrawal.”

Silence stretched between them for a few long moments before Lady Trevelyan went on in carefully measured tones: “We have secured a steady supply of lyrium. I assume this is voluntary on your part.”

“It was a decision I made shortly after Cassandra recruited me,” Cullen replied.

“You should have informed me earlier, Commander,” the Inquisitor reproved. “Should you be unable to perform your duties–ˮ

            “Cassandra is more than capable of handling the Inquisition forces, should the need arise,” Cullen argued, struggling to ignore the desire demon that circled languidly around Lady Trevelyan, brushing a finger against a shoulder here, touching a strand of hair there.

            “What the Inquisition _needs_ is a General,” she spoke harshly. “Seeker Pentaghast is a fine warrior, but directing an army on the battlefield takes more than righteous fury.”

            Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and smothered a sigh. Lady Trevelyan was right, of course. They could not afford to present Corypheus with such weakness.

            “Are you directing me to resume taking lyrium, Inquisitor?”

            Cullen watched mesmerized as the mask of cool composure she usually displayed simply dissolved at the question, laying bare an array of emotions he would not have associated with the leader of the Inquisition. Uncertainty and boundless sorrow transformed her features as she struggled with the answer. In her sudden distress, Lady Trevelyan began pacing the room restlessly.

            “According to Bull, the Qunari value a single trait within a leader,” she began haltingly. “The ability to do what is necessary,” she paused, and turned a stony gaze onto Cullen. “You see, Commander, I really only have two choices: I either order you back onto a lyrium regime, or find a replacement for you.”

            “I suppose the answer is clear, then,” the Commander snarled. “I have helped build the Inquisition. The men trust me. I am not going anywhere.” He then marched towards the cabinet, and removed a wooden container. An array of delicate, blue bottles lay nestled within.

            “Cullen, no,” Lady Trevelyan cried in alarm. The temperature suddenly plummeted, and the Commander found himself unable to move. She then grabbed the wooden box, and threw it out the window.

            “That was… unexpected,” Cullen observed once he was released from the ice trap Lady Trevelyan had immobilized him with. The Inquisitor stood before him, her expression betraying more shock than he felt himself.

            “I suppose that settles the matter,” she muttered, nonplussed.

            Cullen chuckled, and was surprised to discover that his headache had subsided, and the incessant shivering had stopped. A despair demon continued to hover by the door, but he did not find it quite so disturbing anymore. Whether it had anything to do with the unexpected turn of events, or the incongruous wonder he felt at having Lady Trevelyan address him by his given name for the first time since their acquaintance, he could not tell.

            “You have strong feelings on the issue of lyrium, I take it,” Cullen ventured.

            “Perhaps as strong as your own. It is a brave thing, what you are trying to do,” the lady replied softly. “You are indispensable to the Inquisition, Commander.”

            _Ah, the mask is back on_ , Cullen thought.

            “As such, it is critical for us to ensure your continued health and well-being. While magic cannot relieve you of all the symptoms, it can lessen them to some extent. You _will_ accept the ministrations of a healer. I leave the details of a contingency plan to you. It will _not_ include Seeker Pentaghast. You will rely on your officers. Should there be any changes in your condition, I expect you to report to me immediately…”

 

* * *

            The sky was a deep blue that could lure even the most dedicated bookworm out of their shelter. Skyhold was buzzing with activity, its residents invigorated by the cold, crisp mountain air. Cullen felt thankful to once again be able to take his stroll along the ramparts. Between Master Adan’s potions and one of Grand Enchanter Fiona’s mages who went by an unpronounceable Orlesian name he had plowed through his last crisis with a little more dignity.

And there between the merlons stood the woman who had thrown a month’s worth of lyrium into the ravine to prevent his surrender to weakness. The rare glimpses Cullen had caught of the woman behind the Herald of Andraste and the leader of the Inquisition left him mostly daunted. The mischievous nature he had sensed coupled to her keen intellect made for a dangerous combination. Lady Trevelyan’s passionate outburst from a few days prior, however, prompted Cullen to transition from intimidated to intrigued. What had prompted such strong feelings on lyrium? Why did she keep everyone at arm’s length? What were her favourite flowers?   

            “I see you are partial to apples,” he remarked as he approached the Inquisitor. She had just taken a healthy bite out of the fruit, and covered her full mouth with an embarrassed look.

            “Not at all,” she finally managed. “There is a chubby little girl inside me who cries at every bite I take.”

            “You? I won’t believe it,” Cullen laughed, pleasantly surprised by her warm tone.

            “Oh, yes, it is all too true,” Lady Trevelyan insisted. “I was a rather pudgy child. At least, until I was delivered to the Circle.”

            “The Templars must have frightened you out of your wits with their heavy armour and typical grim expressions,” he surmised.

            “Cullen, my father had knights, guards, soldiers,” the lady chuckled. “I grew up around grim-faced men and women with swords. Templars did not frighten me. It was the food that slimmed me down. It was horrible!”

            “A mage not intimidated by Templars? You are a rare bird, Inquisitor,” Cullen ventured. He felt an absurd need to be charming, and cringed at the choice of his compliment.

            “Cullen, I threw a fortune’s worth of lyrium through your window,” she exclaimed, brows raised. “There really is no need for you to stand on ceremony around me. Don’t go all _Inquisitor_ this and _Inquisitor_ that on me. At least, not in private.”

            “As you wish… Aurora,” Cullen replied smiling. It was difficult to keep it from turning into a grin. He found he enjoyed rolling the syllables of her name on his tongue more than was reasonable.

            “Ah, and here comes our resident Grey Warden, to inspect the ramparts,” Aurora murmured. “As if you hadn’t assessed the integrity of the keep already.”

            “Of course, my lady,” Cullen replied, matching her hushed tones. “Some weaknesses were found, but the overall structure of Skyhold is hale. You can see for yourself that repairs are underway.”

            “I suppose he wants to ensure things are up to Warden standards,” Aurora concluded doubtfully, then walked ahead to greet Blackwall.

            “Or perhaps it is not the walls he wants to inspect at all,” Cullen muttered under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the wonderful EasternViolet for agreeing to beta this short story for me, as well as the lovely people on the BSN Cullen Thread for the inspiration.


End file.
